The cold wind howled like a wounded beast, sweeping across the barren land and rattling the bones of the trees that dared to grow near the Mountain of Eternity. The sky was bruised with shades of deep purple and red, as if it had witnessed too much suffering. Manav and Priya stood at the edge of a winding dirt path, gazing at the towering peak before them.
At first glance, it was just a mountain—a colossal mass of rock and ice piercing the heavens. But to those who knew its legend, it was far more than that. The Mountain of Eternity had many names throughout history: the Forsaken Summit, the Immortal's Grave, the Cursed Spire. A place where men and women had gone in search of life everlasting, only to vanish without a trace.
Manav, now in his late eighties, ran a wrinkled hand through his thinning silver hair. His body, once strong and full of vigor, had been reduced to this—frail, slow, aching. His vision blurred at times, and his hands trembled if he held them still for too long. Yet his mind remained sharp as ever. He would not allow age to take him without a fight.
Priya, two years older, was wrapped in layers of fabric to shield her from the biting cold. Her once-radiant face bore the weight of time, deep lines tracing every hardship she had endured. Yet there was still fire in her eyes, a stubborn will that had not dimmed. She adjusted the strap of her bag, her breath misting in the frigid air.
"This is it," she murmured, staring at the foot of the mountain. "We've come all this way."
Manav exhaled slowly. "No turning back now."
Their journey had been long. They had spent months gathering information, chasing whispers across villages and ancient texts, bribing old scholars who spoke in riddles. The mountain was not marked on any modern map, as if the world itself had tried to erase its existence. Those who lived in its shadow spoke of it only in hushed tones, as if uttering its name too loudly would bring misfortune.
*"No one climbs that mountain,"* an old woman had warned them in the last village before their arrival. *"It is cursed. People disappear. The few who return… they are not the same."*
Manav had dismissed her words as superstition. He had lived too long to be afraid of ghost stories. What did he care for curses when death itself was creeping closer every day?
They had traveled through dense forests, across frozen rivers, and over crumbling bridges to reach this place. Now, standing at the base of the mountain, it felt as though they were staring at the edge of the world itself.
A single path snaked its way up, vanishing into thick clouds that clung to the upper reaches of the peak. It was impossible to tell how high it truly was. The stories claimed the climb took days—sometimes weeks. Time behaved strangely here, the villagers had said. A man could climb for an hour and find that a year had passed. Or he could climb for years and never reach the top.
Priya shivered, pulling her coat tighter around her shoulders. "It looks… lifeless."
Indeed, there was no sign of life. No birds, no animals, not even a single blade of grass growing on the lower slopes. It was as if the mountain itself rejected the living.
Manav, ever the pragmatist, checked their supplies. They had enough food and water for the ascent, though they did not know how long it would truly take. More importantly, they carried weapons—daggers, climbing tools, even a small pistol in case the rumors of *things* lurking on the mountain were true.
"We'll set up camp here for tonight," Manav decided. "Start at first light."
Priya nodded, though her gaze never left the peak. "Do you think it's real?" she asked after a long silence.
Manav didn't answer immediately. He had spent a lifetime chasing power, manipulating empires, outliving kings and tyrants. And yet, for all his cunning, he had never uncovered anything close to true immortality. If the stories were false, if this was all just another dead end—he wasn't sure how much time he had left to find another way.
"I think…" He exhaled. "If the world is willing to forget this place, there's a reason."
They set up their small camp at the foot of the mountain. The wind never stopped howling, whispering eerie things through the cracks in the rocks. Manav built a fire, but the warmth did little to chase away the unnatural cold that clung to this place.
As they ate in silence, Priya spoke again. "Do you think we deserve it?"
Manav frowned. "Deserve what?"
"To live forever."
He had no answer for that.
The night passed in uneasy quiet. Manav did not sleep much—he never did—but something about the mountain made even rest feel dangerous. He sat by the fire, sharpening his knife, listening to the sounds of the wind. Occasionally, he thought he heard something else. Distant footsteps. A faint whisper. A shape shifting in the darkness just beyond the fire's glow.
But when he looked, there was nothing.
Priya, too, was restless. She stared up at the peak long into the night, her mind a battlefield of thoughts she did not voice.
At some point, she murmured, "We will make it, won't we?"
Manav didn't hesitate. "Of course we will."
She gave a small, tired smile. "You always sound so certain."
He had to. If he doubted now, even for a second, they had already lost.
Dawn arrived slowly, the first light barely able to penetrate the thick mist that surrounded the mountain. The fire had long since burned out, leaving only cold embers. The time had come.
Manav and Priya shouldered their packs, tightened their coats, and stood at the base of the path.
This was it.
The climb awaited.